


Beautiful Damnation

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Basically, Cheating, Demon Alfred, Devil America (Hetalia), Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, FrUs - Freeform, Human AU, Human Names Used, Light Bondage, M/M, Religious Themes, RusAme, Smut, Sweet Devil AU, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-13 05:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Damnation would be easier without a soul, without the ability to fall in love.Alfred knows better than to fall in love with a human, but he's fallen for Francis - hard. He can't be intimate with him, not without risking Francis's health, and Alfred stupidly gave up on feeding from other humans, the intimacy it required making him feel as though he were unfaithful. It's just in a devil's nature, maybe, but Francis deserves better. Alfred wants to be better for him.Until he's forced to feed for the first time in the year he's been with Francis, anyway. He should have known better than to think even love could change his very nature - but that stupid part of him still longs to try.





	1. Feeding

**Author's Note:**

> Basically an extended version of my one-shot [this](http://aph-nightmare-eyes.tumblr.com/post/158995246410/selfish-love) but with some changes to the plot.
> 
> I take a good bit of creative liberty with the mythos of angels, devils, Heaven, Hell, et cetera, so while some parts will be familiar, others will be mixed with other legends, folk- and fairytales, myths, and my own imagination.

Francis shouldn’t affect him this way. There’d been dozens upon dozens of humans much like him throughout the centuries. Humans weren’t as special as they liked to believe, but sometimes, they felt like the exception, the shining light in these monotonous, tedious trials that made up existence.

And Francis was that exception for Alfred.

His optimism was as high as his cynicism was low. He wore his heart on his sleeve; Alfred would be able to read his thoughts even without the help of being able to see his aura, which fluctuated from yellows, reds, and greens to greys, blues, and dingy browns and then a mix of those colors that seemed to create a war only Alfred could see but only Francis could feel.

He shouldn’t be so special. He shouldn’t have such a strong grip on Alfred’s heart.

But humans could hold so much more power over Hell than they knew.

Damnation would be easier without a soul, but that seemed to be the point. Alfred didn’t even want to imagine how the seraphs were reacting, seeing a devil getting spoon-fed chicken broth by a human worried about his boyfriend’s supposed fever.

“You need rest, _mon loup_ ,” Francis murmured, aura flashing with greys and blues in worry.

He didn’t show any fear from Alfred suddenly snatching his wrist to stop him from taking his glasses off. Alfred didn’t have the energy to keep his glamour in place without the help of his enchantments, which were his bomber jacket and glasses.

His jacket was already off, and he could already feel his head and the base of his spine itching, the skin tight and irritated. If his glasses were taken off, his tail and horns would appear immediately, followed by his eyes and hair changing color and his skin becoming even hotter. The “fever” already showed he was close to transforming, his low energy making it hard to keep his glamour in place.

He was so _stupid_!

He needed to feed soon, but the thought of it pained him.

The seraphs were most definitely cackling at him.

“And you need to go to work,” Alfred replied, holding up a finger when Francis opened his mouth. “I know Feliciano likes you, but Romano has been looking for a reason to fire you. Don’t let my poor vitamin habits be that reason.”

“But—”

“Please?” Alfred pushed against Francis’s will with his own. He’d never done this to him before, and it sickened him to do it now, but he wasn’t about to show him what he actually was.

Stupid and selfish. No wonder he was damned.

Reluctantly, Francis nodded, and Alfred let go of his wrist.

“I’ll be back soon as my shift is over,” Francis promised. He brushed Alfred’s long bangs back from his forehead and kissed him on the forehead. “Rest while I’m gone, and we’ll watch those _Saw_ movies you like so much. Matt said he’d be away all weekend.”

Matt was Alfred’s roommate. Alfred had amassed enough wealth over the centuries to live by himself, but living with a human was preferable—and Matt was unobservant enough that any slips of power on Alfred’s part were easily overlooked.

Alfred smiled. “I should get sick more often.”

Shaking his head but unable to stop smiling, Francis left. Alfred stayed in bed until he heard his apartment’s door open and close. He got up and closed his bedroom door to inspect his face and hair in the tall mirror posted on the back of it. His roots were starting to darken, but that was easily explained as him dying his hair—though his eyebrows were still blond.

They would darken soon; Alfred needed to find someone to feed from and soon. He hadn’t waited this long to feed since first becoming a devil, and he didn’t have Arthur to save his ass this time.

Probably not even Heaven or Hell knew where that guy was these days.

The itching on either side of his head and at the base of his spine began to ebb soon as Alfred pulled his bomber jacket over a Sniff Test-approved T-shirt. He rolled his shoulders, back sore and stinging. He didn’t have wings—didn’t need them with the ability to turn into shadow, mist, and corvids. Instead, his back was covered in intricate tattoos to create his own personal Seal, keeping him bound to Hell.

Usually it wasn’t visible, but it occasionally shimmered white. It looked beautiful, the delicate curves and artistic angles and crosses giving it a look of elegance and purity—ironic, but that was the point. Hell’s first ruler had been the most beautiful of the seraphs before their Fall.

The burning and prickling pain was a reminder of Alfred’s purpose as a devil. It alerted him to his lowering energy levels and would put him into a magically-induced coma if he went too long without feeding, to keep him from dying before an opportunity to feed presented itself.

Devils didn’t lure humans to Hell as part of the job description. There was no job for them, just meaningless existence.

Feeding on humans, though, tipped the scales into Hell’s favor. Not always, though. Sometimes the humans got better and continued to live and work towards Salvation; sometimes they didn’t. It all depended on their own will to live and walk along the Narrow Path.

Alfred tried not to think about it too much.

Opening his window all the way, Alfred took a deep breath and spun once. In a blink, he was a raven, though his eyes were blue instead of black.

It wasn’t long before he was in another part of the city, where he was sure to go unnoticed by Francis, who worked in a bistro in Kenwood, or Feliciano, who also worked there. He also shouldn’t run into Francis’s two friends, Antonio and Gilbert. Gilbert was working towards his Masters at University of Chicago, and Antonio was getting his Ph.D. at the same college. That was in Hyde Park, and they should have classes today if Alfred was remembering right.

While Francis was a social butterfly, he was only close to three people besides Alfred, which made it easier to avoid those who might wonder why Francis’s boyfriend was sleeping around.

Though until now, shame had kept Alfred from doing such a thing. Shame he could no longer afford if he wanted to keep living, with Francis.

Alfred used to live in West Ridge, back before the Cabbage War back in the nineteenth century. He’d left for New York City during that squabble, opening his own speakeasy and hosting parties he liked to think had helped inspire the character of Jay Gatsby. The Fitzgeralds, while not lovely people necessarily (though Zelda had been a joy to know), had known how to set a scene.

Ivan was working in his garden as per usual—when he wasn’t screaming Alfred’s name, anyway.

Having been a source of food many times for the past year, Ivan was able to sense Alfred’s presence even before he changed back into his human shape. The tall fence enclosing the back yard kept the neighbors from seeing, but most kept to themselves in this area anyhow.

“I thought I was going to have to summon a new one,” he huffed, yanking out some weeds and casting them aside.

He grunted as he stood, cracking his back dramatically. He might look to only be in his mid-twenties, but he acted like an old man. He even complained about technology and the new generations (each new generation since his own). He might as well start playing BINGO and get a cane.

He’d look good with a cane or walking stick, actually—maybe one like Lucius Malfoy used in _Harry Potter_. Ivan had the hair. It used to be wheat-blond but had paled to silver over the years, and his violet eyes (once blue-grey) gave away his supernatural nature.

Well, it couldn’t be called nature. It had been gifted to him.

In exchange for letting Alfred fuck him whenever he needed energy, he got to keep his youth and live well beyond the years set for most humans. Their contract was open-ended, though, so if Alfred grew bored of him or otherwise wanted to end their relationship—if it could be called that—then Ivan could summon another devil to create a new agreement with.

The list of names was written in Alfred’s own blood on a scroll of lambskin, rolled up in the silver vial Ivan never took off from around his neck.

“Gotta learn not to be so impatient if you’re gonna live forever, darlin’,” Alfred purred as he adjusted his glasses.

He reverted to his Georgia accent, having met Ivan when he first immigrated to the US and moved south, preferring the hot weather and hoping to monopolize on the fact that the Civil War had left the area desperate and ripe for others to swoop in and start picking.

“Shut up,” Ivan growled, pulling Alfred towards the door.

His cat ran outside when they entered, but they paid no mind as their mouths rammed together, painful and harsh as Alfred kicked the door shut behind him. They weren’t even to the L-shaped couch before their clothes were off, Alfred’s skin hot to the touch and hair black as pitch. Ram-like horns appeared on either side of his head, curling under his pointed ears.

“You’ve waited too long,” Ivan whispered as their kiss broke long enough for his shirt to be taken off, and it was Alfred’s turn to tell him say “Shut up.”

Alfred’s long, leathery tail wrapped around Ivan’s legs and made him lose his balance. He gasped and fell back, Alfred smirking as he caught him and carried him to the couch. The sclera of his eyes were black instead of white now, his blue irises iridescent and seeming to float in nothingness. His pupils narrowed to slits as he licked his lips, purring for Ivan to let him work as he pulled the taller man’s jeans and boots off.

“Lube’s… in—”

“The table drawer,” Alfred finished, his tail opening the small drawer and grabbing hold of the half-empty bottle, nearly dropping it. “You’ve been busy.”

“I like having sex once in a while without passing out right afterwards,” Ivan grunted as his legs were parted, Alfred careful not to accidentally jab or cut him with his sharp nails.

They were stained black, matching his fingers, which made it look like he’d been finger painting with charcoal paste. Thin lines of iridescent pale blue broke off the ends of the black, stretching halfway up his arm in jagged designs like a coming-apart spider webs crafted from lightning. The lines flashed as Alfred discarded his jeans and sneakers, and the tattoos covering his back burned and shimmered.

He’d waited longer than he thought. How he’d managed to keep his human form intact (even with the enchanted jacket and glasses) this long, he couldn’t say. He’d definitely cut it close.

“And you’ve left me alone for a whole year,” Ivan reminded as Alfred shapeshifted the nails on his right hand to shorten. Even someone of Ivan’s tastes wouldn’t like having his insides torn up.

“I wanted you to miss me,” Alfred whispered, getting on top of the warlock and silencing him with a kiss.

Ivan always complained that Alfred talked too much, but when left too long with only his own thoughts, Ivan could complain nonstop.

He felt like ice against Alfred’s heat, and his breath hitched as he felt those lips move down the side of his neck. The movement was slow that gradually reached towards the line of achingly so. Alfred would pause to nibble and suck, his sharp teeth teasing with the possibility of breaking Ivan’s now-flushed skin but never actually following through.

The nibbles and sucking was without rhythm or rhyme. Ivan would take in a few deep breaths before forced to gasp, his toes curling and hands reaching for Alfred before being pinned down just above his head. He bit down on his bottom lip as wet heat slowly circled around one of his nipples, as the barest touch traced down his happy trail, followed his length, and circled the head.

Ivan could feel him smirk against his mouth with their next kiss when a groan managed to escape.

“My beautiful little toy,” Alfred breathed where Ivan’s shoulder and neck met.

Then he bit down, hard, and Ivan buckled, a growl escaping this time as he hardened fully.

“Get any blood on my couch and I’ll kill you,” Ivan somehow managed around the gasps and growling groans.

“Mmm….” Alfred licked at the wound.

The reopened scars had all been caused by him, claiming Ivan during each encounter. While dominant with other humans, having Alfred play rough with him aroused him like nothing else. Everything was off his shoulders as someone else took the reins—and put the bit in Ivan’s mouth to gag him.

They didn’t have the time for much playtime today, though. Ivan had work tomorrow and couldn’t be unconscious for too long.

Alfred received the message through tasting Ivan’s blood, his rough licks closing the wound.

During this, Alfred had continued to stroke Ivan’s length, breaking only reach lower to pet and tease as he started another trail of kisses, nibbles, and sucking. He moved faster this time when Ivan growled at him to get on with it.

His aura was shades of reds and oranges with shocks of yellow punching through with each renewed discovery of a particularly sensitive area of his body. Alfred breathed it in, feeling his energy start to rise and the tattoos on his back ease in its irritation.

He ran his tongue along Ivan’s length, using telekinesis to keep the warlock’s wrists pinned above his head now, and Alfred lowered his tail to squeeze a healthy glob of lubricant onto his fingers, the nails still shapeshifted to remain short and without any sharpness to them.

Kissing the inside of Ivan’s thigh, Alfred stuck in one finger and smirked when Ivan’s breath hitched again. After this long of not bottoming, he’d need a little more prep work than they were used to, but that suited Alfred just fine. After not feeding for so long, all this energy made him dizzy with pleasure.

He wanted to take care of his little toy—please him to more than make up for what Alfred was taking.

Compared to his skin, Alfred’s horns were ice when they touched Ivan’s skin, especially his inner thighs as he felt the lower half of his body getting warmer and warmer as the devil continued to tease him.

Hot wetness circled the head, and rivulets leaked down from the tip as another finger joined the first and started to scissor Ivan wider. His breaths had been reduced to gasps, and when he opened his eyes, the edges of his vision grew blurry. He was growing more and more sensitive as the world around him cracked and crumpled, leaving only Alfred and the pleasure he was giving him.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing else _existed_.

“I’m—”

And Alfred leaned away from him, chuckling when Ivan cracked an eye open and growled. His fingers were still inside him but weren’t moving anymore, but when Ivan started to say that he couldn’t take this anymore, Alfred started moving them again, taking them out only long enough to add more lubricant and a third finger as he left a trail of kissed down one thigh and up the other and his other—still clawed—hand grasped one of Ivan’s ass cheeks.

One of his nails nearly broke skin, and Ivan hissed and gasped and then groaned as the wet heat returned to his shaft, moving up slowly and then down quickly and then returning up to circle around the head.

The fingers left, and Alfred set the bottle of lubricant atop the end table after coating plenty around his cock. He entered slowly, only the head at first as he slowly leaned forward as he planted his palms on either side of Ivan’s waist.

“Al—” The rest of Alfred’s name was swallowed by a loud gasp, and a shutter trembled down his spine as he started his rhythm, slow at first so as to not hurt Ivan. “ _Fuck_.”

“Language, pet,” Alfred purred, and Ivan gasped again when he was suddenly made to sit up, Alfred moving at the same time and managing to not lose his rhythm. “And remember whose magic keeps you so pretty.”

Ivan’s aura shuttered, the colors dancing in time with Alfred’s thrusts.

Growling, Alfred ran his hands up Ivan’s sides as he moved faster, repeatedly hitting Ivan’s sweet spot, turning his gasps and moans into a song that made Alfred’s veins sing as the onslaught of raw, heightened energy buzzed through him and blurred the barrier between them. They were two and one and nothing and everything.

They came seconds apart, and Ivan slumped in the air, spent and unconscious from the energy loss.

Alfred pulled out, and laid Ivan down on the couch. They were both clean of cum and sweat with just a snap of Alfred’s fingers. He made a circle in the air with his fingers, his nails long and sharp again, and the afghan rose from where it had fallen off the back of the couch and covered Ivan—best it could, being much shorter than him.

Swaying a bit, twitching and sniffling like he’d just done a line of coke, Alfred inclined his head and smiled, a feral-sounding chuckle bubbling from the back of his throat. Human energy was more than his bread and butter. It was his drug, wrapping around his soul and singing sweet nothings.

He was a devil, damned, dangerous, and devious—and he _loved_ it.


	2. Like Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SpAus is now a pairing in this fic.

Loving Alfred was like loving lightning.

He was beautiful to look at, but containing him felt like a gamble he struggled to fathom, let alone sort into words. Upon first meeting, his touches delivered sparks and stole breath; his eyes made Francis cease his scoffs at authors who described gazes as “piercing.” He spoke with surety but moved with hesitance—the wink of lightning in darkening clouds.

As time moved on, the touches decreased in frequency but held more meaning. His gaze softened, and his words lost its bravado while each motion to pull Francis to him was premeditated—like he weighed the pros and cons with each handhold and peck on the lips.

They had never moved further than making out, which Gilbert and Antonio joked about at first. Whether the jokes had lost their flavor or they suddenly found Alfred’s religious values admirable, Francis wasn’t sure (though he’d bet enough money to pay both their tuitions on the former), but he was glad not to have those jokes jabbing him in the ears anymore.

Alfred’s insistence on abstinence was still surprising, though, recalling how he’d acted when they first met. Francis had felt almost like a conquest at first and had turned away every innuendo and leading question, first out of disinterest but then out of wanting to keep playing the game.

And every so often, Francis wondered when the game was going to lead him to getting burned or electrocuted.

The game was back; throughout the movie, Alfred would take his hand and intertwine their fingers, stroke his hair, kiss his knuckles, nibble on his neck or ear—like touch was the only thing keeping him away from the brink of death.

It wasn’t until Alfred straddled Francis’s lap during the scene where the girl got her hands stuck in the razor-box that Francis asked how far he wanted to go.

Francis had both hoped and dreaded that Alfred would say he was ready, religious laws be damned.

When the game had faded into the quiet and careful dance of courtship, Francis felt sure of himself, comfortable.

Now he felt doubtful and excited, but it was excitement that was a muddy mixture of anxiety and feral need that kept pushing him forward, telling him to “Go, go, go!”

But then Alfred snapped out of it, like Francis’s question had shattered a spell.

Face red, Alfred muttered, “I’m… I’m sorry… I just….”

“It’s alright,” Francis whispered, kissing the back of Alfred’s hand.

He was still warm, but he’d always run hot. It wasn’t as bad as this morning, at least.

They settled back next to each other on the sofa, fingers intertwined and Alfred’s head on Francis’s shoulder.

Maybe it was just the fever making Alfred feel heat in more ways than one? Francis couldn’t say, but he felt his heart deflate and his cock grow soft. He was both relieved and disappointed. He hadn’t been in many serious relationships, one being with a guy who was sex-repulsed. While Francis liked doing it, he didn’t feel it particularly necessary for the relationship to thrive.

But with Alfred, he’d feel longing and dream fantasies that would have him reaching for the Rosaries he hadn’t held (let alone prayed over) since his mother’s funeral.

As the credits rolled, Alfred was half in Francis’s lap and half out, and he made eye contact as he guided his lips to his own.

In response to the invitation, Francis pulled Alfred closer and ran his free hand through Alfred’s soft, dirty blond hair. He smelled like soap and his berry-scented conditioner and tasted of caramel popcorn and ginger tea. He nipped Francis’s bottom lip lightly as he slowly pulled away, and Francis held his breath as Alfred’s mouth found his again.

Alfred twirled a lock of Francis’s long hair around one finger and prodded his tongue forward into Francis’s mouth. There was barely any space between the two of them, and when it ended, it ended far too soon.

After a peck on Alfred’s lips and the edge of his jaw, Francis told him to stay put while he put the dishes away and made another cup of ginger tea.

“It tastes awful,” Alfred whined, lying so he took up the entire couch soon as Francis was up.

“But it helps. You may be feeling better now, but that doesn’t mean you can jump right back to your usual diet.”

Alfred stuck out his tongue, and Francis rolled his eyes, though he was unable to stop his smile form forming as he gathered the popcorn bowl and mugs from the coffee table.

He felt abnormally cold as he took the dishes into the kitchen, his body begging to return to the warmth of his boyfriend.

Loving Alfred may be like loving lightning, but touching him was like standing in front of a bonfire during winter’s longest night.

* * *

“Are you sure?” Antonio asked as he set his cat-ear headband next to his laptop.

His dark brown bangs were getting too long again; his wavy hair nearly touched his shoulders, but instead of finding a hair dresser, he settled for wearing the headband Manon gave him when he needed his hair out of his face.

“I don’t want to tell Francis something like this if it turns out to be a mistake,” he continued, bending back to crack his spine.

Why did he need a Ph.D. again? Hadn’t his Masters put him into enough debt?

“Yes, I’m sure.” Roderich looked insulted that his fiancé would think him willing to divulge information he didn’t fully know to be true. “I was helping Vash move out of his parents’ home when I saw a cat escape from the neighbor’s yard. It jumped over the fence when I caught it. I took it to the front door, unsure if the owner would want his cat running around when several in the area had been stolen and killed.”

Antonio nodded. Some sick fucks were kidnaping cats in Roger’s Park and West Roger’s Park (there’d been reports in Lincoln Square and Ravenswood, too) and leaving them bloodied and beaten on makeshift Black Mass altars. Antonio had heard a couple Satanists he knew grumbling about it, saying people hated him enough as it was without people torturing animals and making it look occult-related for kicks.

“There’s a large window by the front door, and the blinds were open,” Roderich continued. “It was definitely Alfred in the neighbor’s arms, kissing him. He even had his usual ratty jacket, so it wasn’t just someone that happened to look like him.”

Eyes turning to the floor as his jaw set, Antonio mentally counted to ten. He hadn’t realized how heated he’d gotten as the story progressed. He had never been Alfred’s number one fan in the first place, always suspicious of the playboy persona he’d worn when first meeting Francis. Antonio had been at the party where he, Francis, and Gilbert all first met him.

Alfred had looked at Francis the way a cat watched a mouse, imagining how to play with it before chomping down.

Thinking of that look now sent a shiver down Antonio’s spine.

Abstinence his ass.

“Are you going to tell Francis?” Roderich inquired, pulling the chair from his desk around to sit next to Antonio and take his hands.

He flinched slightly at the sudden touch; Roderich had always had bad circulation. When they first dated, the quickest way to kill the mood was one of Roderich’s feet accidentally brushing Antonio’s leg. The memories tugged a smile from Antonio for a moment, but he frowned again as he slowly shook his head.

“I’ll confront Alfred first.” He didn’t meet Roderich’s gaze, but he could see he was frowning out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry. Those days are behind me.”

Antonio had been to four different schools after sixth grade. One of those had been a boarding school with a tuition nearly as expensive as college, which was why soon as he graduated, his parents made paying off the student loans his responsibility with no help from them, despite them being able to more than afford it, the Carriedo family being old money and all that.

Antonio’s dad had made it clear he wouldn’t give financial support to a delinquent, and no matter how long ago that was, no matter how much he’d changed, Antonio was still a delinquent in his father’s eyes.

João had deserved that black eye, though, but, otherwise, memories of that past life were saturated with regret.

Gilbert and Francis only knew the guy who he was now; Roderich was the only one still in his life that knew the guy that punched first and talked never. He was the only one who knew the shadows that hid behind the bright smiles. He was the only one with enough patience to wear down his walls like ocean waves against the cliffside.

If not for him, Antonio wasn’t sure he would have become the person he was now.

“I trust you,” Roderich said, and Antonio smiled.

Roderich’s mouth was a straight line, but his eyes were soft.

They were mesmerizing, purple when the light hit them just right; Gilbert called them “Liz Taylor eyes.” Antonio was unable to lie when he looked into them.

“If I start to get too angry, I’ll leave the apartment,” he promised, and Roderich gave a small nod as he stood up and adjusted his wire-framed glasses.

He left the bedroom for a moment and came back with a golden cross necklace. Antonio had worn it every day since Roderich gave it to him, despite him being Christian only in lineage nowadays. Roderich wasn’t religious either, but he said the necklace was his grandmother’s.

When the clasp broke and Antonio lost it in one of the buildings on campus, he freaked out, nearly to the point of tears with Gilbert attempting frenzied assurances as he helped him search. Luckily, the person that found it knew it was Antonio’s and gave it back to him.

Antonio had wanted to buy a new chain from a craft store, but Roderich had taken the necklace instead, saying he wanted to fix it himself instead. It was odd, but so was he, despite his claims that he was plain.

“Here,” he said, handing the necklace to Antonio. “I got it back this morning. In case you get angry, you can see this and remember your promise.”

Smiling as he felt his tense muscles melt into cooling calm, Antonio took the necklace and nodded.

“Thank you.”

“You must be tired.” Roderich brushed Antonio’s bangs from his eyes. His icy fingers sent a shiver down Antonio’s spine. “Usually you show thanks instead of stating it.”

Smirking, Antonio grasped Roderich’s hand to keep him from leaving the room. He set the necklace onto his desk and led Roderich to their bed, their lips locked.

Shiver after shiver spiraled down Antonio’s spine, the chill of his fiancé’s skin toying the heat growing within his body, and for a while, all thoughts of Francis and Alfred were shoved from his mind. All that existed with Roderich, his breath hitched and his pale skin flushed red as more of his clothes were tossed onto the floor.

His thoughts growing foggy, Antonio suddenly found himself on his back as he helped Roderich get his jeans off. Sometimes being with Roderich was a high Antonio couldn’t fathom, and he didn’t want to—all he wanted was to ride through every experience it had to offer. His skin was cold, but it felt like a fire had ignited inside him. Every sensation carried electricity, and he only wanted more.

He vaguely remembered a promise he’d made as he felt pressure, swiftly followed by tingles and then shots of pleasure. It travelled up to his head, thickening the fog before scattering throughout the rest of his body like ripples caused by a skipping rock over water.

In this moment, Antonio was sure he would keep any promise he made to Roderich, whatever it was.


End file.
